<<Once again, over at East Beach Writer's Guild we were challenged to write a few paragraphs based on a starter sentence. The May one was right up my alley! Here is mine.>>
I was lying in a pool of blood...or some sort of red liquid substance. Hard to tell by the meager light of the moon filtering through the thick canopy of pine trees. All I know is that my backside was soaking wet and when I lifted my fingers to see what’s what, blood-red fluid dripped from my pinky.
I conducted a brief inventory of all my 2,000 body parts with nary a scratch or a puncture to be found. So if not my blood, then whose?
Last thing I remembered I’d been heading down a gravel path towards the barn where Karina’s bachelorette ho-down was to be held. I’d dressed more for a Studio 54 shindig than a deep-in-the-bowels of Suffolk event so my high platform shoes were probably not the best choice of footwear for meandering down a rocky road—in the dark. But meander I’d done, a jug of Carlo Rossi Sangria slung on my thumb. I’d stumbled and…Oh, wait.
I patted the ground under me, then lifted my moist fingers to my nose and inhaled deeply. The fruity scent of Sangria filled my nostrils. Thank goodness I wasn’t lying in a pool of blood. But sadly there would be no Sangria at tonight’s party as the bottle lay shattered on the ground beneath me.